


Walking on down

by dani_the_girl



Category: Spooks
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dani_the_girl/pseuds/dani_the_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Tom's name has been cleared at the end of 3x01, he needs someone to help him come back to the real world. ~1200 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking on down

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this is kind of h/c but the h is from the episode! I was interested in the fact that Adam immediately believes in Tom when he appears so I wondered if they had previous connections. Unbeta'd so do feel free to nit pick if you notice any mistakes. Title from a RHCP song called Slow Cheetah I had playing while I was writing this - "Walking on down to the burial ground, it's a very old dance with a merry old sound."

"You know where the shower is," Adam says firmly when they get inside and gives Tom a tiny push to get him moving in the right direction. That done, he starts rummaging in the fridge for things he can throw together into some sort of stir fry.

By the time the food is seared in the frying pan and then set to keep warm on the hob and he's dug out, after some consideration, scotch and glasses, he's starting to tense up again. Tom was never one to linger in the shower before, he remembers, and decides that, as so often in his life, discretion is not the better part of valour. He pads over and pushes on the bathroom door.

Tom hasn't locked it, which Adam decides to read provisionally as a good sign. Tom is standing in the shower, braced by his arms leaning against the smooth tiles. The water cascades down over his head, hammering into his shoulders, hot enough to steam. He looks rigid. "Tom?" Adam asks softly.

For a moment, Adam thinks Tom isn't going to say anything, then he asks distantly "Is it raining? It sounds like it's raining?"

He considers and instantly discards the possibility that Tom means it literally. There's no sound except the shower water falling over and away, swirling down the drain, the faint sizzle of the food in the kitchen, their breathing, soft and regular now.

That being the case, there are two options. Reply literally and hope Tom will snap back to the present, or try to work this through now. Adam strips off his clothes, mentally shrugging to himself. He never liked waiting around.

He steps into the shower behind Tom and squeezes some shower gel into his palm. The water is hot, almost too hot, but he doesn't turn it down, just sets his hands onto Tom's shoulders and starts gently stroking the shower gel over his back, massaging the muscles, no pressure, just contact.

For a couple of minutes, Tom doesn't respond, just stands there, and then his head drops infinitesimally and the tension across his shoulders loosens just a little. Adam starts stroking the suds up his arms, leaning forward to do both at once until his hands are resting over Tom's, where they are braced against the tiles.

"Lean back," he says softly, an instruction, not a command. Tom sighs slightly, and does so, taking his hands away from the wall and leaning back into Adam. Adam gets some more shower gel and starts to soap Tom's chest, reaching around Tom's body in a way which is just short of an embrace. It's awkward and not desperately efficient, but that's not really the point.

That done, they stand there, let the water wash over them, wash the soap away down the drain with the dirt and the tramp. Eventually, Tom sighs and reaches up to the shower panel, turns the water off.

"It's over," Adam confirms. "You won, Tom."

Tom snorts softly. "They all believed it."

"They second guessed themselves. They know how much they trust you, thought they must be blinding themselves. If they thought they could have believed you had done it, then they never would have."

Tom mulls this over then turns so that they are face to face. "How can I lead them again after that?"

"Just go back in there tomorrow morning, tell them it's all just the same as it ever was. Back to normal. That's what they want to hear," Adam points out. "They'll want to believe it and the guilt at not trusting their instincts before means that they will believe it."

"And you?"

Adam smiles. "Oh, I think I'll stick around for a while."

"Keep an eye on me, you mean? What will Fiona think of that?"

"I haven't told her yet," Adam admits cheerfully. "But she'll be fine. She's back from Copenhagen tomorrow; come over and ask her yourself." He reaches out, puts his hands on Tom's shoulders for a moment but he can see Tom already retreating back behind the mask and drops them again. He turns away, gets out of the shower and starts to dry off. Behind him, Tom does the same. They wander into the kitchen together, towels wrapped around their waists, and polish off the food, somewhat over done now but still edible, in about two minutes flat.

After the bowls have been put in the sink for washing another day, Tom stands in the kitchen, looking irresolute. "I should go," he says.

"Don't," Adam says firmly. He proffers the bottle of scotch, but doesn't say anything else, watching Tom struggle with it, trying to decide whether to accept help.

"Fiona? Wes?" Tom asks after a moment.

"Neither of them due back tonight," Adam reassures. Fiona has been on routine obo in Copenhagen for the last week, which has certainly made it easier to jump right into Five's problems. Wes is, as usual when they're both active, at his grandparents. Tom takes a glass, uncaps the scotch and pours himself a sizeable measure. Adam pours his own more modest one and they sit down on the sofas.

They chat about inconsequential things - family, old times, old friends. They stay off the service, anything that could be related back to an op drives Tom to change the subject, which leads to the conversation becoming increasingly rambling and disjointed. The service touches too much of their lives, Adam thinks. Too many innocent things hold memories. He wondered what had happened to Ellie, Tom's interest last time they met up, but he knows better than to ask. They finish their drinks, pour another round. Tom suddenly changes tack, starts to talk about his team. Adam still can't decide if he and Zoe have slept together. Her overcompensating reaction seems to suggest it, but Tom doesn't have more to say about her than Danny. They're good kids, as Adam has already realised, but it sounds too much like a hand over for comfort.

He stands up, draining the remainder of his scotch and setting the glass down on the table. "Come on," he says briskly, "let's turn in. You can introduce me to the wunderkind properly tomorrow." Tom puts his own glass down, looking uncertain. "You can have Wes' room if you'd rather," Adam tells him, leaving the invitation unspoken, hanging. He turns and pads away to the bedroom, leaving Tom in the living room, watching him.

It takes Tom longer than Adam expected to make up his mind. By the time he hears the handle of the bedroom turn, he's already dumped the towel back in the bathroom and slipped on a pair of boxers to wear in bed. He's just about to get between the sheets when the door opens, and he carefully doesn't react, doesn't express any commentary on Tom's decision, just accepts it. "I'm having this side," he says, cheerfully. Tom shrugs. He's replaced his own towel but of course he doesn't have any clean clothes here. "If you want something to wear in bed, have a rummage in the top drawer," Adam tells him, and goes to make sure everything's locked up.

By the time he gets back, Tom is in the bed, lights off, lying on his side. Adam slips in behind him, eases an arm gently under his shoulders so that he can hold him and finally lets himself relax. It just might be OK.


End file.
